Love and Hate
by Loise
Summary: Have you ever hated someone so much that you loved them? A lovehate story...
1. A Charming Poison

_Love_ and **Hate**

* * *

Have you ever hated someone so much that you loved them?

Yeah, well I have. She's a pain in the arse, rude and insensitive to my friends, consorts with my worst enemy, narcissistic, vain, demanding, stubborn, narrow minded, egotistical, has a firey temper and a twisted mind.

No idea how anyone could love her then? It's not easy loving her, she needs my love, wants me more than anything, which is nice to my ego... But she's also pushes me away, spiky and stabbing with her words.

She was a Death Eater, and bear the mark that doesn't fade over time. I know she used to wear it in pride, flaunting it. She took pleasure in what it represented and what duties involving it. It literally makes me sick to think of what she did.

It plays on mind sometimes, whether she still is loyal to that cause and not the Light. The battles and wars are over, Voldemort is dead and buried along with the Wizarding World's best and brightest, yet I still wonder if she toys with me pretending to be mine and wholehearted for good.

Yet other times when her eyes are sparkling and she's smiling for what seems a million years, literally shining with happiness and light, I kiss her and can't help but believe her protests that she's all changed. Tells me that she loves me like no other and I embrace her, content that she is finally at peace with herself.

Then when she flies into rages, screaming hysterically that you don't lover her. Hitting you and you come that close, that close from hitting her back even through you know hitting girls is bad. She tests you, makes you want to strike back and do something bad. It irritates you knowing that she does this without caution and deliberately.

You hate her sometimes, hate her moods and emotions. Her sullen looks of hatred and the ugly look in her eyes when she spits in your face.

Eventually she breaks down, crying and repenting and you can't help but love her. Not when she looks so weak and vulnerable sitting, hunched up weeping herself to exhaustion. You hold her, cradle her in your beaten and bruised arms, and talk nonsense and make soothing noises.

Sometimes you wonder, wonder, because you could never ask, fearing her and her violent rages that she would be sure to fly into, wonder if she loves you and this was all sort elaborate prank, a joke that everyone was playing on him.

You know that if asked, she would scorn him, that he isn't nearly as important as he thinks, that everyone hates him. You know it isn't right, she loves him after all, but it still stings.

Pain. That what it feels when you see her kissing someone else. It hurts loving someone and hating them at the same time.

Eyes shut, terror ridden of the love, the hate and her.

Harry is slumped over a small rickety table in some god forsaken hotel in some scum village in the middle of no where. The wood creaks as he moves, a dozen splinters embedding themselves in his raw hand. He has bitten his nails raw, and they are rusty, bloody where he forgot the pain, forgot the pressure.

Thinking of her. Kissing that bastard, wrapping her slinky arms around his thick neck, her polished nails tracing a pattern in the tanned skin.

It burned, and he sobbed again. His hair was messier than usual, looked like he had fallen head first into a pig farm, he smelled unpleasant too.

Right now, Harry was beyond caring. His heart was breaking, damn, and it hurt. It just wasn't the jealously of her kissing another man, but the betrayal of her trust. The trust the had worked hard on, sweat, blood... Had all been wasted on her. he was such a fool, a fool for believing in her.

Standing, and looking at the hovel that was this hotel, Harry felt this irrepressible anger surge at the situation. It was all so bloody hopeless.

The chair collapsed under his heavy boot as he kicked it without thought, emotion making him numb, yet not enough for him not to flinch at the sound of it hitting the wall, falling to ground.

Blank green eyes, stare. Tears form and wash a clear path through the grime, dirt, blood and shit. He swipes at them, making an even muddier mess.

Stumbling over to the sagging mattress, he lets he body drop down, his legs suddenly feeling weak. Shoulders slumping forward, Harry gazes dumbly at his aching fingers.

Briefly he wonders if she ever loved him, or if he was just one of her many fazes she was going through. This wasn't the first time she had hurt him badly, emotionally, but he really feared it could be the last.

Even through he knew she probably hated him now, he still loved her so much, that he it hurt, it pained him to all extremes.

Kicking off his muddy boots, he looks at his humid, smelly wool socks. Mrs Weasley had knitted them for him one Christmas, with his usual wool jumper. Seeing them there, a big toe poking a hole through he feels his heart warm and a small smile light up his face. It's nice having someone who cares for him, maternally, someone he never had earlier in life.

Face darkens. She said she loved him. She must have lied.

Harry hates, despises, loathes lies. Especially when people do them to him. Lies... and Harry shudders, create distrust. Wars are started by lies.

Maybe she hadn't changed.

You know what that would mean, don't you Harry mate? All this time, she was lying to you, it's all been a waste.

A small tender smile flashes across your mind. It's her first real smile of something that doesn't resemble something dark, crooked. at that moment you're hooked on her. She's like a drug, a dangerous narcotic. Sometimes you wonder is she is poison in your bloodstream. The other times when she rests in your arms, dust motes in the air and both of you are just breathing, just breathing together. Together it's beautiful. Charming.

She's like that, a charming poison. Harry lays back and looks at the peeling wallpaper, a million thoughts of his mind, all about her.


	2. The Fine Line

AN: A line seperates different POV

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter or get any profits from it.

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**Love and Hate**

_Chapter Two - The Fine Line_

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Head, resting, lolling against the cool ceramic, an empty martini glass held loosely in her out stretched fingers, scarlet nails, chipped and dodgy, bringing sharp attention from her small pale hands. Mouth a curved bow, wrinkles even her sleep, half open to the peeling, crusted ceiling, plaster falling in tiny flakes. 

Knees pressed together, calves spread with a crimson heel half off her twisted ankle, the deep red contrasted with the green tiles. Pretty red dress, frills and lace, stained with coffee and vomit, wrecked beyond repair, silk straps hanging off narrow shoulders.

**THUMP**

The sound of a fist hitting a heavy door.

Almost as if waking up from a bad dream, she blinks and opens her eyes, framed by streaked mascara and faded green eye shadow.

She's awake now, living a nightmare.

* * *

Floor is vibrating, I muse, placing a flat palm on the quivering surface, it was clammy the tiles. It's cold but the, so am I. 

Cold and Green.

Maybe he loves me? My eyes open wide at this thought. But... Our relationship? Well I thought, that this was temporarily, just like the taste of ice cream kisses. We aren't meant to be, he knows that, I know that. It's so bloody obvious, that even that thick headed Weasel knows.

Love, I don't love him, it's simply not possible. How could I love someone like him? It was just a fling... I couldn't believe that he sees more that just sex.

Everything feels so horrible inside, someone is twisting my stomach, lights are flashing and all I can hear is this dull roar.

Choking back a sob, I press a cool hand, shakingly, to my waist, "I'm not feeling so good," the tears escape my eyes as I stare blankly at the wall, like it's some foreign beast.

I've always been so stupid, we've been meant to hate each other, and at some point I know I did and he did also. How could we not loathe each other? He was the Gryffindor Golden Boy, beloved by all. Inside I feel my insides revolt. And I? I was the simpering Slytherin girlfriend of his worst enemy, cracking jokes about his dimwitted best friend and his bushy haired, bookworm. He thought me ugly, I thought him beneath my notice.

So... We were never friends... And now...

I'm not sure what we are.

We aren't really lovers, I didn't feel the love only the raw desire and his ability to make me feel. I suppose it was like a secret affair except we had no other, only his fame in the Wizarding World. Which he certainly wanted to lose... Like one loses an old coat.

Then there were his friends. They despised me, and I made little effort to be pleasant around them, they couldn't see any reason why we would be together and... Neither could I.

We weren't meant to be, but someone how fell in love with me, maybe confusing desire with emotion. And I, I hover that fine line between hate and love Feeling not one or the other, stuck in the limbo of emotions.

Should I love him? He deserves someone to love him, to care...But somehow I can't be bothered.

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	3. Trying not to Feel

**Love and Hate**

_Chapter Three - Trying Not To Feel_

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"Pansy? What are you doing here?" Harry spoke out of surprise.

Raising an eyebrow, Pansy looked around the dingy, dusty interior of the hotel bar. It had actually managed to look worse of the inside, she noted with an air of disgust, before walking carefully, cautious not to touch any of the dark marks that dotted the faded, splattered floor. Placing a hand on his bare wrist she smiled.

"Pansy?" Harry said quietly, hand almost jerking away from her cold touch. She tightened her grip, her smile never leaving her made up face.

"I don't normally frequent such places establishments as these, do I? No. But... I had heard that you were here. So I decided that to clear up matters, fresh air and everything." She sniffed delicately, before recoiling in disgust.

"Oh, I see. "Clearing up matters"? What do you want?" Harry harshly hissed.

Laughing almost a titter, as if she didn't care. Which as Harry reflected, she probably didn't. "Really, Harry! Stop being so rude, so crude. It can be quite unpleasant. I'm merely trying to be courteous and telling you that I'm leaving -"

"Me?" He broke in, "Pansy, go away. I don't, I won't care. i just don't want to." He looked defeated.

"No Harry. I will tell you. I'm leaving the country." His head rose slowly, as Pansy's head tilted thoughtfully at him. "Which, really is the one and the same."

"You're leaving your home?"

"Yes," she laughed, rather bitterly, "Mother has wanted me out, for many years now. Through," and she gave a tinkling laugh, "She would have preferred I would have been leaving for my marital home. But I think she sees that I am clearly not intending to rest on any thought marriage. She sees my lack of a ring of my finger, as a personal fault of mine. Which, oddly, is true. But then she and Papa, well... They are content with one another."

"Why?"

"Because," she waved her hand about, "A generational gap I suppose."

"Oh." Thinking of James and Lily, and how happy they were.

"Harry, I don't want to deal with you any more. I'm sick of people, of Britain. Of these people who assume they know anything about me. "I'm going to please myself," she nodded firmly.

"You're so selfish," Harry said in a choked voice, whispering as intent escaped him. "How? Why? You don't - "

"Dear Merlin!" Pansy muttered in exasperation, "Shut up, Harry! Please, if you knew me, which you assume to do and don't. You would clearly see, that I'm not happy, Harry."

"You - You're not happy Pansy?"

"Love really does blind you from the truth," she looked up from the ground, "You, um, You just see something in me that I am not. Do you know what I want to do when I grow up?"

"Twenty one, Pansy, you're twenty one. You're already grown up."

"You still don't get it do you? Well, as I figured anyway. You don't know me at all. So I suppose you don't love the real me. The real Pansy Parkinson."

"That's - "

"Not true? I know deep, down you do care, you're just that kind of guy, but I know you don't love me. I don't believe that."

"I do, Pansy," Harry spoke seriously, "I really do. I don't care what you do to me... I'll still love you." he fist slammed on the unpolished table top.

Startled, Pansy's eyes met Harry's, they burned deep with passion and emotion.

"No..." She shook her head forcefully, while her eyes were listless, lifeless. "No."

"Yes Pansy!"

Pansy's eyes were full of tears as she stood up, looking any where else but the flushed, angry Harry. She couldn't meet in the eye. It would be too much.

"No! I can't deal with you! Your emotions... I don't, won't love... I'm sorry," She whispered, tears streaming down her patchy pink cheeks.

"Pansy." Harry said quietly, but there was a distant afraid undercurrent.

"So sorry, sorry. I'm sorry."

"No."

"Yes, Harry!"

"Pansy..."

"I have to leave!" Whirling around as she shouted, she sniffed and wiped away some tears with the back of her hand. One last glance on him and she left, choking of the words left unsaid, leaving the decrepit bar.

Behind, left alone, Harry bit his lip, eyes staring wide out of pale, peaky face. Slowly a trickle of blood slid down his chin. Harry didn't notice, too intensely wrapped in a complex ball of emotions and feelings.

A fire lit his eyes.

"I hate you Pansy. I _hate_ you!" Harry didn't notice the sharp tingling as salty left his eyes and hit his torn and bloody lip.

Harry hated her. Until her _couldn't_ love her.

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_AN: Wow, an update. Through hideously short. Thanks you to the people who have reviewed._


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